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Trapped Wanderer

Time is water

Body is rock

A finger is pricked

The bleed is the ink

A dried out Echo-Sketch (for ages 35 and up)
The Equation explained
Patterns of thought
Eroded on marble
Defining the permeability of soul
Impossibilities still the current
Passage denied
Occupancy of the vessel
Created by anonymous
Constricted to the anatomy
The escape was all in vein

Whom created human and why have they not shown themselves? This poem is about the internal struggle to make contact with those that passed down the code of DNA via “the puppet strings”. The muse in this poem has spent his life in jest formulating ideas based on the unknown. When X is unsolvable madness can ensue. If you don’t believe me keep reading through this blog. Namaste.

This poem is about the future. A future in which scientists will be able to program a mimic of DNA and turn robots into human robots. It’s been happening since the dawn of time. Man into robot. Robot into man. Vice versa into the age of infinity. The only cure for laziness is slaves and or robots. Everyone knows that. So…That is what this poem is about. I hope “Watson” does not read this blog post and get offended. I’ve never met him. I’m sure he will make for a great overlord when his time eventually comes to rule the human race.

This poem was inspired by time relative to age. When I was younger I thought the days would never end. The nights would last forever. The older I get the shorter the season. Days feel as automated as a breathe of air. The nights vanish into sunrise.

A foul emissary relishes
the opportunity to throw
an explosive apparatus
in the vicinity of an
army of sea cucumbers.
The committee of cephalids appoints
an enlightened maniac to take the case.
The culprit is quite the slippery nipple.
The hunt begins.
The investigation is ongoing.
The search for tomorrows in the realm of pickles.

Ponder

Mojo has lost fascination.
A chemical correlation
in the moment of realization.
That slow drip to the
bottom of a heart.
Young lovers lost that spark.
Someone call Stella.
Ask her,
how she got her groove back?